


A Gift-Wrapping Catastrophe

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Celestial Harmonies Cider and Cocoa zine, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fluff, Gift-Wrapping, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, Light Angst, Nanny and Francis are quite obviously an old married couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27917350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis are working hard into the early morning hours of Christmas Day trying to make everything perfect for Warlock. But in the middle of wrapping and rushing, one very important present goes astray ...
Relationships: Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34
Collections: Celestial Harmonies: Cider & Cocoa





	A Gift-Wrapping Catastrophe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Celestial Harmonies: Cider & Cocoa zine.

“Oh … dear … _demon in bloody Hell_!” Nanny Ashtoreth stretches stiff arms above her head, yawns with a hand cupped over her mouth. “What time is it?”

Brother Francis, curled on the floor by the foot of the Dowling’s twelve-foot Nordmann Fir, his body snaked around an empty cardboard roll that once held shimmery blue-and-silver Christmas wrap, a holographic bow stuck to his forehead, blinks his eyes open. He rolls his head to check the clock hanging on the wall, narrowing his lids when the numbers swim in and out of view.

“It’s tomorrow,” he replies, cuddling up with the tube again.

“Tomorrow?” Nanny groans, yawning a second time. “Oi! Wasn’t it yesterday seven hours ago?”

“Sounds ‘bout right,” Francis agrees. “At least we finally got all the presents done. They’re spoilin’ that boy within an inch of his life, I tell ya.”

Nanny grins, flashing pearly-white fangs. “Yes! Isn't it perfect?” 

“Why we couldn’t use a miracle to wrap them, I’ll never understand,” Francis grumbles, scowling at the late … or rather _early_ hour.

 _“Becaussse the Dowlingsss are ssstill roaming about!”_ Nanny answers in a hiss. “Wouldn’t do for us to get caught out now, would it? And _we_?" She tuts in disgust. "More like _I,_ thank you very much! You curled up with your cardboard lover there after wrapping a sum total of five presents, then passed out!”

“I was here with you in spirit,” Brother Francis says, struggling his way to a sitting position. “That’s how angels operate. And it obviously helped. Look at the wonderful job you did!”

Ashtoreth huffs. “You’re lucky you’re cute, _Brother Francis._ Wot between this and the way you snore, you'd be spending the rest of the night underneath that Christmas tree otherwise, trussed up like a turkey to boot!”

“My spine thanks ya for your leniency.” Francis arches his back, which cracks loudly like a walnut smashed underfoot. 

Nanny Ashtoreth rolls her eyes. His spine he could use a miracle to fix, she thinks. _That_ no one would notice.

“And I do not snore,” Brother Francis adds, climbing shakily to his feet.

“No? Then a freight train must have been re-routed through this living room without my prior notice.” She shakes her head, starting the equally long task of cleaning up, the urge to snap the mess of paper bits almost too difficult to resist. As it is, she’ll be fishing tape out of her hair for the next hour, but don’t ask her how in the Heaven it got there. “I’m exhausted!” she moans. “Positively tuckered! The minute my head hits my pillow, I’ll be out like a …” Nanny’s eyes fall on a thin cardboard box with holes along the sides sitting a foot from the tree. She tilts her head, drawing a blank as to why it didn’t get wrapped with the rest of the packages.

Or what is supposed to be in there.

“Oh, right,” she mutters to herself when she remembers, opening the flaps to peek inside. She doesn’t recall exactly _when_ the tuft of fur, claws, and teeth stopped making noise. It must have fallen fast asleep waiting for Nanny to finish. Mrs. Dowling had instructed Nanny to deliver the kitten to Warlock’s room after the presents were wrapped, but Nanny decided to keep the thing with her, squirrel it up to her room when they're done, and wait till morning to introduce it to its new master. Satan knows that the second that kitten climbs its furry butt onto Warlock’s bed, he will be wide awake, and there will be no keeping him from coming downstairs to raid the tree.

Demons don't necessarily need sleep, but Nanny would appreciate an hour or two of shut-eye after the night she's had.

Nanny Ashtoreth moves the flaps of the box aside to get a glimpse of the kitten she chose special for Warlock. Satan never takes an interest in choosing presents for his son, but Ashtoreth feels he would much approve of the ball of spit and vinegar she chose.

Nanny stares into the box; stares long and hard. Stares until her slotted eyes cross.

“Uh … Brother Francis?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Have you seen Jezebel?”

“Why, yes,” he replies, twisting his spine from side to side, working the kinks out. “Yes, I have. Adorable little creature. Warlock will simply adore her!”

“A-ha. And when did you see her last?”

“Well …” He pauses to think, giving his belly a good scratch “… she was kicking up such a fuss about being cooped up in that box. So I let her out to stretch her legs. She stopped by for some scritches and a snuggle, but I think she ran off. She’s probably hiding somewhere under the tree.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want her sharpening her claws on any of the three hundred presents _I_ just finished wrapping.”

“She’s only a kitten, love. I doubt she’ll be able to make it through ten presents. If that.”

“Ha … ha,” Nanny Ashtoreth deadpans. “Easy for you to say …” Nanny straightens, going completely still as she leans an ear towards the center of the room. “Did you hear that?” she whispers.

“Hear wot?” Brother Francis asks, lowering his voice to an appropriate level.

“Listen.”

Nanny and gardener stand quiet and still, but only Nanny Ashtoreth knows what they’re listening for. Then Brother Francis hears it – a small, pathetic meow, soft and muffled.

“I definitely heard that,” Francis says.

“She sounds like she’s in trouble.” Nanny Ashtoreth walks carefully around the living room, listening at the walls, the cabinets, close to the floorboards, trying to figure out where the meowing is coming from. “We have to find her! She’s the one thing Warlock wanted most this Christmas, and I would rather not bring her back from the dead!”

“We will find her, my dear. Have a little faith.” Brother Francis follows Nanny’s lead, getting down on his hands and knees to search under the furniture, the sofa cushions, the throw rugs, and inside the empty tubes of wrapping paper, until he hears the meowing again, more clearly now …

… coming from underneath the tree.

“I told you!” Brother Francis sits back on his heels, beaming in triumph. “She’s under the …!”

A new sound joins the meowing - a frantic scratching. Nanny Ashtoreth’s eyes go wide.

“She’s not under the tree!” she cries. “She’s inside one of the presents!”

“How in the world did that happen!?”

“I don’t know!" Nanny's hands find her hair, fingers pulling anxiously at what's left of her once neat chignon. "She must have hopped into one of the boxes without us noticing! She is a very tiny kitten, after all. Wait ...” Nanny turns on Brother Francis with the speed of a viper. "Everything _I_ wrapped was pre-packaged! _You_ wrapped his new coat, blazer, and slacks! Those had to be folded and put into garment boxes! That means ..."

Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis stare at the presents stacked thigh high around the tree, meticulously wrapped using seven different styles of paper, each with a coordinating bow or flourish of ribbon curls as per Mrs. Dowling’s specific instructions. From the silent upstairs, a door creaks open. Footsteps patter softly on the wood floor. A giggle follows.

“Santa?” a high, giddy voice calls from above them. “Santa, is that you?”

Nanny Ashtoreth glares fire and brimstone at Brother Francis. Francis's trembling lips part, the first thing he thinks of tumbling out before he can stop it.

“Oh … _poop_.”


End file.
